


Fire in my belly, ice in my veins

by Syain



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Dreams, Coffee Drinking, Falling In Love, Fluff, Implied Drug Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Smoking, a bit of angst i suppose, and it will never get a plot, but mostly just, but who isn't in this economy, i guess??, i mean it's jimmy so, i will add tags when needed, in russian, just high as a kite 24/7, look i dunno how to tag this yet alright, mild swearing, so everyone will hopefully show up sooner or later, soft, sokol is gay and frustrated, sorta - Freeform, struggling with english, this has no plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syain/pseuds/Syain
Summary: A bunch of oneshots focusing on Sokol and his relationships with the other heisters.





	1. memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to this shitshow called "nico writes a story bc nobody else writes for my otp, so somebody better get on it"  
> and that somebody is me 
> 
> that being said, it'll also feature the other heisters and other stuff which i haven't made up my mind about yet.
> 
> also no beta readers, we die like men here.

”Sokol…”

He felt his body shake.

“Sokol!”

It was louder this time, closer.

“Sergei, come on buddy. Wake up.”

He blinked sluggishly, body tense and heavy. He took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of air in his lungs as he noted a dull burn in them. It almost felt like he had been drowning. There was a soft but numb feeling in his chest, hallow.

“You were trashing around,” the voice said. Sokol dully noticed that a hand was still resting on his shoulder. His legs were tangled into the bedsheet. “Bad dream?”

Lifting both his hands, Sokol ran them down over his face in an attempt to rub the sleep from his face. His skin felt too tight, stretched too hard to fit his frame. He gave an affirmative grunt when he realized he hadn’t answered. It earned him a thoughtful hum as he stared into the ceiling of the bedroom. 

Silence settled between them. Sokol turned his head slightly when the hand was removed from his shoulder and he heard the rustle of fabric. His eyes lingered on the back of Dallas, before reaching out and gently running his fingertips along the older man’s spine.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Sokol mumbled, English awkward and accent thicker than normal. He could feel Dallas huff, letting his hand drop as the mastermind got out of the bed.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Dallas replied as he pulled on his boxer briefs. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. 03:16. What an ungodly hour to be awake at, but here they both were. “Wanna grab a smoke with me?”

“Sure,” Sokol replied before popping himself up on his elbows, trying to untangle his legs from the bedsheet. His body ached for more sleep. His years on the ice had worn him out and so had his years of heisting. He wasn’t even thirty, but he had days where his knees ached so badly he had to take painkilling medicine.

He shivered when a cold breeze hit his skin as he got up and located his own discarded boxer briefs from the night before to put them on. He stretched, trying to dampen the ache in his body as he padded after Dallas, towards the open balcony door. He accepted the cigarette wordlessly handed to him before putting it between his lips, letting Dallas light it.

“ _Spasiba_ ,” he offered, taking a drag from the cigarette. He closed his eyes and relished the feeling of smoke filling his lungs. He used to smoke ages ago. He had a faint memory of the older kids at his school hanging around, coughing more than smoking. He remembered his first cigarette; it had tasted awful. He had coughed and coughed afterwards, had felt so sick. It was a brief affair before his mama smelled the smoke on him.

He was more scared of her than lung cancer.

He softly blew out the smoke between his lips as he opened his eyes. Washington D.C. looked peaceful at night, he noted in the back of his mind. No police sirens, bullets or explosions. He was half way through his cigarette before Dallas turned to face him. Sokol gave a soft sigh, stalling the conversation by taking another drag of the cigarette.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Sokol wanted to say no, because he really didn’t.

“Is nothing,” he said instead, cigarette still caught between his lips, muffling his words, “just a dream about my mama… _blyad_ , I dunno.”

He made the mistake of making eye contact with Dallas. He hated that unreadable facial expression the other man almost always wore, even when it was just the two of them. It was like a mask, but one he forgot to take off.

Or perhaps didn’t want to take off.

It made Sokol feel like an open book next to him.

Sokol let out a sigh, resting his elbows against the balcony railing as he took another drag of the cigarette. He awkwardly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You miss her?” 

Sokol gave a halfhearted shrug before blowing out some smoke, though he remained silent. 

“I miss my mom sometimes,” Dallas said after a moment of silence. “She used to call every Christmas. Always left a voicemail because I was never there to pick up the phone. She stopped doing it a couple of years ago.” There was a brief pause as Dallas took a drag of his own cigarette. “I dunno what happened. Maybe she got tired of calling and me never picking up or calling her back… or maybe she kicked the bucket.”

“Kicked the bucket?” Sokol asked a soft frown appearing on his face.

“Eh... you know, died,” Dallas supplied, earning a soft ‘oh’ from the Russian.

A silence settled between them again, heavier than before. It made Sokol shift his weight awkwardly, idly fumbling with his cigarette.

“I haven’t spoken to my mama since I arrived here,” Sokol eventually said. He had thought about her plenty of times. What was she doing back in Russia? Was she happy? Did she miss him? He had considered calling her before but never been able to truly muster up the courage. He had her number written down in his unreadable handwriting on a piece of paper, tugged away in a book about mechanical engineering.

Sokol felt a soft and somewhat sad smile gently tug at the corner of his mouth when Dallas gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. He appreciated the silent support instead of pity. God, how he hated when people pitied him, especially for something that was his own choice.

“Let’s go back to bed, _milaya_. I’m starting to get cold out here,” Dallas suggested, earning a huff in return from Sokol.

“You say it funny,” the Russian commented as he took a last drag of his cigarette before killing it and throwing the remnants of it into the ashtray.

“I say it exactly like you should,” Dallas countered.

“Still sounds funny.”

The older man rolled his eyes, giving the Russian a nudge with his shoulder as they stepped inside again. Dallas closed the balcony door behind them as Sokol sat down on the bed.

Lying back down on the bed, Sokol looking at the ceiling before turning his head enough to watch Dallas lie down on his side of the bed. Sokol slowly crept closer, pulling the bed sheet with him to cover them.

“Thanks for the smoke,” Sokol mumbled, earning a soft chuckle in return.

Closing his eyes, he realized he felt safe here, warm. 

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'eeey you made it through the first chapter  
> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://syain.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> also quick disclaimer, i only know a handful of words in russian, so if anything if wrong feel free to tell me
> 
> spasiba - thanks  
> blyad - fuck  
> milaya - sweetheart


	2. water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by jimmy snorting coke in fear of the unknown (water)  
> i am also ride or die with jimmy speaking and understanding russian bc he does in hardcore henry so there is that

”Hello? I-is somebody out there? Hello?!”

Rapid knocks sounded on the door; there was a hurried feeling of desperation to them.

“Anybody!? Please! Th-there is something in here!”

Sokol groaned softly, turning onto his side on the couch. It felt like somebody had been beating him with a baseball bat the day before, which he supposed wasn’t too far from the truth. They had been heisting. It was a simple job; get in, fill the bags with jewelry, get out and escape.

Nothing was ever simple in their line of business.

Somebody had called the cops on them, forcing the crew to bunker down in the jewelry store. Sokol had taken the butt of a gun to the chest when he had run back to grab the last bag. It had knocked the wind out of him, leaving him disoriented on the ground for a moment before help had arrived in form of Chains. The enforcer had hauled the grinder to his feet, dragging him back to the van.

Sokol had been grateful for the rescue, though not so much for the scolding he had received from Dallas when the mastermind had examined his injury. He had taken a stupid risk, and they all knew that. While it had been a small-time job, he could potentially have jeopardized not only himself but the rest of the crew. Worst case scenario had been that he had landed his ass in jail.

He’d have to live with bruises on both his body and ego.

Getting to his feet, Sokol looked over towards the bathroom door.

“Seriously, guys! Th-this isn’t funny! Hello?!”

Sokol padded over towards the bathroom door, idly rubbing his chest in some attempt to sooth the soreness.

“Hey, Jimmy. What is it?”

“Oh, thank god! There is something in here with me, alright?” Jimmy voice was lowered to what was supposed to be a whisper, which most people considered to be the normal volume of speaking. “It’s.. it’s behind me and.. the door is locked.”

Sokol rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. Jimmy was odd at best and a fucking coked up mess with no sense of personal space at worst. Sokol had felt cautious towards the new member of their team in the beginning. As he had understood it, Jimmy hadn’t exactly started out on the best of terms of Dallas, Chains, Wolf or Hoxton least of all.

And now here he was, having to somehow save this idiot from himself.

“Sokol.. Sokol, mate.. are you still there? Man, don’t leave me here,” Jimmy practically sobbed through the door.

“Still here,” Sokol regretfully replied, letting his hands down drop his side again.

“Okay.. okay.. great, fucking great. I was.. I was afraid you had left me there for a second, mate,” Jimmy said, desperation lacing his voice. Sokol imagined the other man’s face being pressed against the door. The mental image was easier to focus on than the actual meaning of Jimmy’s words.

“So what do you want me—”

“Oh my god, it is on the floor!” Jimmy interrupted, voice shrill as he banged his hands against the bathroom door. “Pleasepleaseplease, open the fucking door!” Sokol stared at the door in disbelief.

“Right, ok.. just move away from the door and I will open it,” Sokol informed. He could hear shuffling accompanied with whining on the other side of the door.

“Just hurry the fuck up, mate!”

Sokol took a deep breath, bracing himself before grabbing the handle of the door and opening it. Obviously, Jimmy hadn’t considered that the door opened inwards and not outwards.

The sight that greeted Sokol was… perhaps something he’d have described as mildly disturbing if it hadn’t been Jimmy who had been in the bathroom. The mirror above the sink was shattered and there was a gun lying on the sink counter next to what Sokol assumed was a few lines of coke. The unknown presence seemed to be the overflowing water from the sink. Jimmy looked absolutely mortified.

“You, mate,” Jimmy said was he rapidly advanced, pointing at Sokol, “you are a fucking life safer, a fucking hero.” Sokol let out a soft grunt when Jimmy jabbed his chest, before he was engulfed in a bone crushing hug.

Sokol awkwardly tried to pat Jimmy on the back as the air was slowly squeezed out of him. Was this was dying felt like? If it was, he was regretting not eating that package of ice cream for dinner yesterday.

“Jimmy... Jimmy, _otpustite menya_ ,” Sokol wheezed.

“Oh shit, sorry mate! _Prosti_ ,” Jimmy said before letting go of Sokol, patting the Russian on the back.

Sokol watched as the supposed scientist’s attention was snatched by the alcohol lined up in the bar behind him. He had never viewed the other man as dangerous despite his many… not so fortunate personality traits. He wasn’t like Wolf or Hoxton, wasn’t a bomb slowly ticking away, waiting to blow up. Or perhaps he was, but he hid it behind some more juvenile and friendly behavior than the others.

Wincing, Sokol stepped into the bathroom. His socks soaked in seconds and that was without a doubt more uncomfortable than the soreness in his chest. Avoiding as much of the scattered mirror as possible, Sokol turned off the faucet.

He should really ask for a raise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> otpustite menya - let me go  
> prosti - sorry


	3. english

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the struggle of learning a second language featuring sokol's frustration and my want to write something without dialogue
> 
> no beta readers, we die like men here

English…

A language spoken by over 1.5 billion people. Germanic origin. Latin alphabet.

A language that Sokol thought himself to be good at when he lived in Saint Petersburg. Back then he knew his English wasn’t perfect, it was far from, but he felt confident enough to speak it should the occasion arrive. He spoke it better than his peers, that alone boosted his confidence in his skills.

In America, he was stupid. His grammar lacking, losing words and fumbling with sentences. He sounded stupid and incomprehensive to himself and didn’t want to imagine what he sounded like to others. He knew his teammates had a hard time understanding him in the beginning, he could see the brief confusion passing over their faces when he spoke, could sense the tense hesitation when he was heisting with them.

He understood, though. He understood why they felt like that and didn’t blame them for it. At first it had made him afraid. Would they tell him to pack his things and ship him back to Russia because of his lacking English? Would they put a bullet in his head because he had seen their faces and knew them?

Then it had made him frustrated with himself.

Sokol had a vivid memory of the younger Steele brother who had approached him, in his own weirdly quiet way. In the beginning it had been something as simple as a reassuring smile and a nod, as if the ghost could sense his escalating unease. It had turned into Houston asking Sokol simple questions, harmless stuff really. How did America compare to Russia? Did Sokol like the food here? What was his favorite color? Sokol had struggled in the beginning, giving proper answers but Houston had simply watched him with calm ease and that reassuring smile, offering words when Sokol found none.

It had helped, Sokol realized after three months had passed. Their conversations were mundane, but it had been what Sokol needed to improve. It had made him fit in with the crew better; he didn’t see himself as a liability anymore.

He still forgot words, still called out things in Russian. Most of the others had picked up a handful of Russian words, enough to understand at least. It hadn’t been a problem with Wick in the beginning, for while the hitman’s spoken Russian was somewhat rusty after years of disuse, he still understood perfectly. Sokol supposed it had been why they’d been paired quite frequently in the beginning of his heisting career with the Payday gang. When Jimmy had joined, it added another Russian speaker to the crew and whoever was the fourth person paired with them, was usually offered a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, two potato sons


	4. coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> houston has my coffee habits like the freak of nature that i am

”Hey tinkerboy, what are you working on?”

“Trying to fix the impossible,” Sokol replied after a moment, eyes on the blueprints scattered out on the dining table in front of him. He was dressed casually, sweat pants and a jersey. It was downtime. A pair of thick rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose – he didn’t want to strain his eyes. Sydney had laughed her ass off the first time she had seen him with them, called him a ‘fucking hipster’ as she slapped him on the back.

Chains made a sound, a cross between a snort and a laugh.

“Right, right… fixing the drill. Good fucking riddance.”

Sokol felt his lips quirking into a smile at those words, giving a shrug. It felt like an impossible task, but something he didn’t want to back down from. It was like every time he fixed an existing problem with the drill’s blueprints; five new ones were born. He didn’t understand how or where they came from. Wolf had called it a ‘curse from the gods’. Sokol was beginning to believe the Swede.

A silence settled between him. Sokol heard Chains start the coffee machine, humming to himself as he turned on the radio.

“You want a cup?” the enforcer eventually asked, looking over his shoulder at Sokol who gave a nod.

Sokol briefly peaked up when he heard Chains fumble with the cups. He counted two on the counter, but the other man was in search of another one it seemed.

“Houston’s is the one to the far right, second shelf,” Sokol smugly supplied as he looked at the blueprints again. He could almost hear Chains’ head snapping around to look at him. “30 minutes exactly in the freezer for a cup one third filled, then sugar and milk.”

“You two are spending way too much time together,” Chains managed with a cough, looking back at the three cups he had placed on the counter.

“Was curious, so I asked,” Sokol replied. He remembered the first time Houston had made them a cup of coffee. The ghost had asked him how he took his coffee. Cream, sugar and hazelnut syrup. Coffee had never been Sokol’s strong suit. He preferred it sweet no matter how good or how ‘round’ the aroma was. It tasted bitter and almost made his face scrunch. Houston on the other hand… Sokol wasn’t sure how he had expected that the ghost took his coffee, but he certainly hadn’t expected the other man to put his (the one and only cup that looked exactly like all the others, but it was Houston’s and for some reason he knew when somebody had moved it) cup in the freezer.

“Besides, I had never seen anyone take their coffee like that before.”

Chains huffed as he opened the freezer door, delicately placing the one-third full cup in a free spot before carefully closing the freezer again.

“Yeah, well… me neither. Guess we all have our quirks,” Chains said as he grabbed the two remaining cups and walked over to the dining table. He handed one of them to Sokol before sitting down opposite of the Russian.

Sokol took a sip of the coffee, face scrunching up at the lack of any sweetness to dampen the bitter taste. He placed the cup next to him.

“Ew,” he said, sticking out the tip of his tongue in displeasure. It made Chains laugh.

“Come on, it’s time you learn how to drink it black like the rest of us grownups,” Chains said, good natured.

The comment made Sokol roll his eyes, though the scrunchy expression had been replaced with a smile.

“Ha-ha, funny American. Come back when you stop mixing juice in your cheap vodka.”

“To be fair, we mix vodka in our juice.”

“Weak.”

Chains shook his head, sipping his coffee. It was never truly quiet in the safe house, though. Hila and Ethan were discussing something in the main living area, Sydney chatting up Rust, with Houston sometimes offering his opinion, Hoxton complaining about something in the office to either Dallas or Clover – perhaps even both. No, silence was rarely something that completely overtook the safehouse. 

“So… how are things with you and Nathan?” Chains asked halfway through his coffee.

The question caught Sokol somewhat off guard, causing him to stop scribbling for a moment, looking at Chains over the rim of his glasses. He squinted softly.

“Things are fine, why wouldn’t they be?” Sokol countered, trying to keep his tone neutrally disinterested.

“Dunno. He has just been mentioning you an awful lot lately. Figured something was, you know – going on.” Chains made a vague hand movement. “Look, I don’t mean to pry or jump to any conclusions as to what you may or may not be doing together, but he is still my friend, and somebody has to watch out for his dumb ass when he has his head too deep in the money pile.”

Sokol was quiet for a few moments, eyes eventually averting to look at the blueprint again, gently tapping his pencil against the table. He gave a shrug, before lifting his free hand, pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he gave a tired laugh.

“He is just so…” Sokol trailed off, eyes unfocused as he searched for words. “… so high maintenance.”

It made Chains laugh, almost spitting coffee all over the blueprints.

“I am getting grey hairs, Chains. I look like I’ve been wrestling a honey badger when I wake up in the morning, and he looks like he has just stepped off the runway in Paris. How is that any fair?” Sokol sighed, adjusting his glasses.

“So, I take it things are going well?”

Sokol gave an affirmative hum, suppressing a smile, looking down at the blueprint again.

“What can I say, tinkerboy... Steeles are just a lot of work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, i re-wrote this like a billion times before i decided to put chains in there instead of my boy houston
> 
> also no russian in this, wow


	5. friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all ready for some soft and sappy shit
> 
> also no beta readers, wops

It was soft.  
  
A gentle pull, easy smiles and lingering eyes. Something that shouldn’t be allowed between people like them; murderers, bank rubbers, thieves, terrorist. Still, it persisted; it stayed.    
  
It had been on the 5th of August 2016, a little over a year since he joined the gang, that Sokol realized he had fallen in love for the third time in his life.  
  
His first love had been in kindergarten. It had been a boy his own age, Mikhail. They had been joined at the hip since the first time Sokol had been dropped off there, their connection had been instantaneous. Sergei and Mikhail, the tiny terrors. They brought as much mischief with them as they brought joy.  
  
At the age of five, Sokol experienced his first heartbreak. Mikhail and his family were moving from Peters to Moscow. He had cried and cried and cried, told his mama how much his chest hurt, like he couldn’t breathe. He thought it’d drag him under and suffocate him. His mama had held him close, offering him advice far behind his years he could barely comprehend. Still, it had helped.  
  
When Sokol had returned to kindergarten, he had changed, somehow outgrowing his peers. There was wisdom of heartbreak in his eyes. Still, his smile was filled with joy.  
  
His second love was a fellow student. He had been sixteen. It had been a slow, creeping love. Suddenly it was there, a tight grip on his heart, making his breath hitch in his throat whenever he saw her. He felt silly. She was a year older than him and her name was Yulia.  
  
They had spoken a couple of times, but she was funny and smart. He hung around when she smoked with the older students. She’d always offer him a smoke, he’d always refuse. It was like a game they had going. _Maybe next time_ , she’d say with a smile and a cigarette between her lips. She smelled of cheap perfume.  
  
When the year was over, she had left.  
  
It numbed him for a while. He didn’t know what to do. It took a week before the wave of bone crushing sadness hit him in the guts like a baseball bat. He cried and cried and cried into his pillow at night, unsure what he was mourning. Could you truly mourn something that had never been?  
  
When Sokol returned to school, he had changed. The wisdom of heartbreak dug deep in him, it showed in his eyes, it showed in his smiles. They were few and far between. By the end of the year, he almost thought had forgotten how to smile.  
  
The 5th of August 2016. It was a Friday, cloudy but warm nonetheless. Crime never stopped, but it did take a break that day. Nothing extraordinary had happened. Sokol had been leaning out of the window of the safehouse on the first floor, cigarette between his lips and elbows resting on the windowsill.  
  
Dallas had approached, asked for a cigarette. Sokol had briefly looked him over; the older man looked tired beyond his years, his usually neatly combed hair in complete disarray and dress shirt ruffled. He didn’t envy the mastermind his position as the face everybody feared.  
  
Sokol had handed Dallas his own cigarette without thinking. Their fingers briefly touched as Dallas accepted it, taking a drag as he looked out of the window.  
  
Dallas was the most beautiful thing Sokol had ever laid his eyes upon in that moment. He found himself staring as the other man handed him back his cigarette.  
  
He had accepted it with a soft smile, feeling the heat slowly creeping up his neck. If the mastermind noticed (Sokol was sure he did, nothing seemingly excepted the eyes of a Steele) he had the manners not to comment on it. Instead he gave Sokol a soft nudge with his shoulder, offering the Russian smile of his own.  
  
It was warm, peaceful, reassuring. Something not meant for the likes of them, but it stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost ate an entire jar of lemon curd before writing this


	6. exhibit

The sound of Hoxton yelling from the office carried clearly down into the basement. If Sokol strained his ears, he was able to make out other voices as well. One of them sounded like Dallas. He had grown to recognize the mastermind’s hoarse voice. He couldn’t quite make who else was talking, but he assumed Chains and perhaps even Clover was in on the conversation as well.

Sokol had the basement to himself, which was why he had taken the liberty to use some of Dragan’s workout equipment. While heisting certainly kept him on his feet, he missed his regular workouts and tried to maintain the shape of the athlete he used to be. Dragan’s improvised workout station provided just what he needed.

Dragan had to deal with something for the Butcher, and only God knew where Jacket had wandered off to. While Sokol found himself not particularly caring, it did make him feel slightly uneasy that he didn’t know where the mute man had gone. The door to Bodhi’s room was sealed shut.

The sound of rapid footsteps was heard on the stairs, and Sokol wasn’t surprised to see the younger Steele descending with a tight expression. Hoxton’s yelling had seemingly intensified, and it made Sokol suspect that whatever they were yelling about upstairs had involved Houston.

“Hey,” Sokol greeted, earning a soft nod in return.

Houston went to sit on one of the workout benches, seemingly deflating as he did so. Sokol’s eyes lingered on him briefly, a somewhat uncomfortable feeling settling in his chest. He had been part of the crew long enough to have been informed of Houston’s and Hoxton’s shared background. He didn’t understand why it was an issue, or why Hoxton’s unquenching rage was directed towards Houston, but he had decided not to ask any questions. It was none of his business.

“Are you alright?”

Houston didn’t even look up and simply gave Sokol a thumb down before he started to pick at his fingers. It made the Russian sigh and run his hand over his chin, noticing the patchy stubbles underneath his palm. He should shave soon.

“Is Nathan keeping the situation under control?”

The use of his brother’s first name made Houston’s eyes flicker before giving something that resemble a nod. Sokol had often wondered if it Hoxton who was a bomb ticking away to his own heartbeat rather than Wolf. The Swede was a chaotic constant in their lives, but so was Hoxton. Both of them embodied qualities that made Sokol weary. Conflict just for the sake of conflict didn’t belong on a team. While Sokol had never been much for compromising, he knew that if you simply refused to cooperate just for the sake of it, you’d either get kicked out or you’d end up being bench warmer for however long it was deemed necessary.

A silence settled between them again. Sokol looked at the work out equipment, though he didn’t feel it appealing with the added company. He had slowly stopped micromanaging his food intake to make sure eat enough, mostly because Nathan couldn’t decipher his shopping lists, so it had been born out of a necessity to still eat whatever the American decided to buy.

“I don’t like it when he yells,” Houston said to no one in particular. He sounded tired beyond his years. The yelling upstairs had somewhat subsided. Sokol looked at him, giving a shrug.

“He is a, ah... how do you say,” Sokol pursed his lips, frown appearing on his face.

“Jackass? Motherfucker? Idiot? Ass?” Houston supplied.

“Ah, shitshovel.”

It earned him a humorless huff from Houston who shrugged.

“Guess you are right about that,” Houston frowned softly as he peeled off a piece of skin from his finger, “he is a goddamn shitshovel.”

Stretching, Sokol’s eyes went unfocused. He heard something crash upstairs followed by the almost parental tone Dallas’ would adopt when things were spiraling out of control.

Houston almost looked startled when Sokol sat down next to him, fishing his phone out of his pocket as a smile slowly crept over his lips. Unlocking it, he opened his YouTube app.

“I’ve something I’ve been wanting to show you,” Sokol explained as he tapped away in the search bar. Houston peered over his shoulder, unsurprised by whatever it was Sokol wanted to show him was evidentially Russian. Tilting the phone, Sokol handed the phone to Houston, though he did rest his head on the ghost’s shoulder to watch the screen himself.

Houston seemed hesitant as the video started. It featured a young woman Skyping with a man in an office as they talked about paintings. The whole thing got more and more ridiculous as the music started to play. The ghost simply stared at the screen.

“’The real bitch without a cunt’, really? Did they really just sing that?” Houston asked in disbelief.

“Just like Hoxton,” Sokol snickered, earning a short laugh from Houston.

Sokol felt proud, feeling Houston relax next to him. He enjoyed the company of the ghost, and he certainly hoped Houston felt the same way. Sure, Houston was a bit (very) skittish and not very confrontational, but Sokol found himself not minding. He was reliable and took heisting serious. He didn’t treat it like a joke, which Sokol had admittedly done when he started out himself.

Houston was wheezing by the time the music paused and gave away for a very heated conversation between the young woman and her mother concerning bread.

“How did you even find this shit?” Houston asked by the time the video had ended, holding onto the phone as a new video started to play.

“They are famous in Russia. Throws good concerts too. People always drink and fight, then you know you’ve a good time,” Sokol laughed, not caring that it was rather stereotypical Russian behavior.

There was another crash from upstairs and Houston flinched. Sokol threw a look towards the stairs as things quiet down again.

“Let’s watch some more,” he suggested, turning up the volume as the woman in the new music video grabbed a pair of scissors and was ready to go in for the kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the first half of this 3 months ago wops  
> the songs they listen to are exhibit (aka louboutins) and tits by leningrad  
> i can also vouch for that a leningrad concert will involve drinking and fighting, especially down in the pit lol


End file.
